


Pretty Women

by Dkpetersen26



Series: A Musical of Ice and Fire [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: Gen, Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:31:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dkpetersen26/pseuds/Dkpetersen26
Summary: Petyr Baelish prepares for his wedding, and calls upon a skilled barber to help him.





	Pretty Women

"Enter!" No One opened the door and stepped inside the main chamber. Littlefinger glared at them from his chair. "You took your time, boy. Now get in here!" No One scurried in timidly, head bowed. "You're a barber, yes?" A small nod. "A good one?" Another nod. "Seven Hells, boy! Are you mute? Speak!" 

"Y-yes, ser. I am... A good one, I mean." No One approached the chair and examined the slimy man. "And what can I do for you, ser? A stylish trimming of the hair, a soothing skin massage?"

Baelish shook his head, smiling. "No, no." He leaned back in his chair, "You see, I'm a man infatuate with love, Her ardent and eager slave. Now, fetch the pomade and pumice stone, and lend me a more seductive tone. A sprinkling, perhaps, of that cologne but first, boy, I think a shave."

No One nodded obediently, unfolding their razor and mixing the shaving cream. "The closest I ever gave." Petyr lay his head back and sighed. No One couldn't help but whistle as they threw the sheet over him. 

"You're in a merry mood today, lad." Petyr muttered.

No One grinned widely. "Tis your delight, ser. Catching fire from one man to the next."

Petyr returned the smile. "Tis true, ser. Love can still inspire the blood to pump, the heart leap higher. What more-"

"What more can man require,"

"-than love ser?"

"More than love, ser?"

Petyr sat up. "What, ser?"

"Women?" No One offered.

Petyr nodded in agreement. "Ah, yes. Women."

"Pretty Women?"

Lord Baelish smiled wider and tunefully hummed. "bubah bubahbah bumbumbum bubumbumbum..." as No One whistled along softly, lathering shaving cream across his face and neck. Eventually, he settled back into his chair with a noise of contentment.

No One crept over to their box of razors and held one up to the light. "Now then, my friend," They whispered, "Now to your purpose. Patience, enjoy it. Revenge can't be taken in h--"

Baelish rapped on the chair. "Make haste, and once we're wed, you'll be commended, ser."

No One bowed their head. "My lord." They approached the chair again. A strange curiosity compelled them to ask a question they already knew the answer to. "And who, may it be said, is your intended, ser?"

"My ward." Baelish smiled creepily. "And pretty as a rosebud."

"As pretty as her mother?" No One blurted.

"What?" Baelish frowned.

"Nothing, ser. Nothing. May we proceed ser?"

Baelish shrugged and lay back. 

No One stepped forward and pressed the razor to his skin. It would be so easy just to cut--

"Pretty women, Fascinating." They sang. "Nipping toffee, dancing. Pretty women... Are a wonder. Pretty women!" They walked around the mockingbird. "Sitting in the window, or standing on the stair. Something in them cheers the air... Pretty women," 

"Silhouetted." Petyr whispered.

"Stay within you."

"Glancing!"

"Stay forever."

Petyr held out a hand. "Breathing lightly,"

"Pretty women!"

"Pretty women! Blowing out their candles, or combing out their hair. Then they leave..."

"Even when they leave you and vanish, they somehow can still remain there! They're there!"

"With you! AH! Pretty women

"At their mirrors"

"In their gardens"

"Letter writing"

"Flower picking"

"Weather watching"

"How they make a man sing! Proof of heaven, as you're living! Pretty Women, Ser! Pretty Women, YES! Pretty women, pretty women, pretty women..."

"Oh, how seldom it is one meets a fellow spirit." Littlefinger mused.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives." No One replied, cocking their head as Littlefinger looked up quizzically. "Just something my father used to say. Before you betrayed him. The years have changed me, my lord. But then again, the face of a girl dressed as a boy isn't particularly memorable, is it?" Sarcasm bit into their voice.

"Arya Stark!" Littlefinger growled.

Arya smiled blandly. "Arya Stark is dead. I am No One, but the God of Many Faces will have his due." The razor slipped effortlessly across Baelish's throat, the skin parting smoothly and a waterfall of blood burst through as though a dam had been broken inside his arteries.


End file.
